26 Pieces
by Miss Pookamonga
Summary: You can only see the whole once you put the pieces together. Here is a look at individual moments in the characters' lives, which, pieced together, form the Sanctuary world. A series of 26 drabbles corresponding to each letter of the alphabet. UPDATED!
1. From Age to Desire

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Dear Readers,

_Since I am constantly plagued with random plotbunnies, I decided to write a series of drabbles, each one relating to a word starting with the corresponding letter of the alphabet. This way, I can get out a bunch of said random plotbunnies without feeling like I need to turn them into full-length fics. None of them really relate to each other and they all take place at different points in time with different characters. Hence, the "random" plotbunny thing...anyway, each installment will have four random drabbles (except for the last one, which will only have Y and Z). I hope you enjoy :)_

_Best regards from a Bookworm (and obsessive Tesla fan),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P_

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**_26 Pieces_**

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**A: **_**Age**_

She is so accustomed to being over a century old that the issue of her age hardly concerns her anymore. But there are occasions when she will suddenly pause from her work and gaze idly out her office window, surveying the gloomy patchwork quilt of smog-drenched concrete edifices and dust-covered metal vehicles below her, and ponder upon the fact that she is one of only three people she knows on earth who can still vividly remember the days when the world was still made of cobblestone, brick, horses, and buggies. But it's not merely this fact that terrifies her so much that her heart transforms into a piston of raging fury. It is what it implies that frightens her more. She should be dead. She should have died long ago, her flesh and bone entombed in a somber wooden box and interred beneath piles of upturned dirt, her memory forever enshrined within faded photographs and petty trinkets. Her history, buried among the lost archives of the past. Yet she is still here, standing on her own two feet, her pounding heart pumping warm blood into her veins, her aching lungs gulping in the air around her. She is still here, well and alive, and as young as she was all those years ago. She is a living ghost, a ghost from a past that has been long-forgotten by modern society. A ghost who cannot vanish from the world of the living… because the world of the living refuses to release her.

* * *

**B: **_**Birth**_

It startles her to see the tiny child, wrapped up in a cozy blanket and sleeping soundly in the crook of her arms. It is like looking through a window to the past while remaining firmly grounded in the present—seeing the blurred images of someone who was within the young face of a newborn. It seems so unreal that this child is truly _his_, the product of a glorious disaster that occurred more than one hundred years ago. Terrifying, tragic, and yet miraculous all at the same time. She can see his smile in that miniature face, she can hear his voice in every small breath, she can feel his whole life encapsulated within that tiny heartbeat. It's him and it isn't him. It's heart-wrenching and heart-warming. It speaks of both love and hate, attraction and revulsion. Her daughter is the incarnation of the very paradox that has dominated her life for so long, and she can only help but wonder if she really has the capacity to love someone that reminds her far too much of a past she still is at a loss to understand.

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**C: **_**Change**_

His life has been completely turned on its head since his first encounter with Helen Magnus. Well, his second encounter, really. It still shocks him to think that the woman who protected him from that creature all those years ago was _her_…the same woman whom he now works for, the same woman who now relies upon _him_, no longer a frightened child,to provide her with invaluable information on those she calls "abnormals". And even after over a century and a half of life, she has hardly changed at all--at least in physical appearance, that is. He can't even begin to fathom what her existence has been like. The world surrounding her has metamorphosed time and time again while she has remained untouched by time and age, watching those bound to the number of their days gradually wither away to make room for new eras. How does it feel, he wonders, to look on as everyone and everything changes—except you? He can't wrap his mind around it. His own life has changed so much in a matter of months, and he along with it. Months ago, before that fateful rainy night, he wouldn't have even dreamed of ever doing something of great worth or purpose. He was the failure, the crazy shrink whom everyone involved in his or her affairs only out of pity. The worthless orphan who had no real family to call his own, who was shuffled from foster home to foster home like a stray dog nobody really wanted until he was finally thrust out into the real world to fend for himself. He had been the "nobody" for all his life, but that chance encounter had opened a door, a door out of which had stepped a woman who had seen more in him than he could ever hope to see. Who had seen _potential_. It had been the first time anyone had ever given him some kind of merit, who had actually _needed_ him. And now, because of Dr. Helen Magnus' uncanny ability to envision glorious futures for those who had none, he is a changed man, a man who actually believes that he is in fact worth something…who can in fact be the person he's dreamed of being for far too many years. And for that alone, he knows he owes Magnus his life.

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**D: **_**Desire**_

He watches her sleep, her small gasps of breath rising and falling steadily beneath the bedcovers. In the back of his already clouded mind, he knows he shouldn't be here standing in her room and leaning precariously over her bedside, suppressing the unquenchable urge to reach out and touch her. But his desire for her has evolved from the tiny flame flickering deep within the cavernous depths of his hollow soul into a rampant inferno incinerating any ounce of good sense left hidden beneath his shadows. No one can restrain this wild creature screaming to be let free, nothing can quell its perpetual thirst for the unbridled passion that fuels it. Nothing, no one…except _her. _He draws in a sharp breath of air, relishing in the sweet scent of her perfume as its remaining aroma wafts up from her slumbering body. Suddenly, he cannot contain himself any longer. He hastily sits down upon the bed and lifts a hand to stroke the porcelain skin on the side of her face, brushing a golden curl aside. The sensation of the softness of her cheek rubbing smoothly against his rough thumb is more thrilling than he could have ever imagined—but it is not enough. He trails his fingers down her neck, drinking in moment as the sensation of her skin touching his feeds the fire within him. He allows his fingers to linger on her throat as his eyes bore intently into the spot, inspecting it closely as if she is a specimen to be studied in a laboratory. He presses his thumb gently against it as she swallows, feeling her throat rise up and dip down before it settles once more. There is something so delicate about this part of her body, he realizes. So beautiful and yet so exposed, so…_vulnerable_…

There is a sudden whimper from the sleeping figure, who begins to stir beneath her blankets. A wave of panic sweeps over him and he quickly jumps away from her, terrified that she might wake to find him there. But before she does, he disappears in a flash, leaving the room as empty and as silent as it was before his visit.

It is not the first time he has come and left like this.

Nor will it be the last.

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	2. From Embrace to Heaven

_Dear Readers,_

_Thanks for the reviews! Most of this bunch ended up being longer pieces than I expected to write, but they're still short. I apologize for any OOC-ness...anyway, hope you enjoy this next batch :)_

_Best Regards from a Bookworm (and obessive, crazy, did I mention obsessive? Tesla fangirl),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P_

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**E: **_**Embrace**_

She needs someone to hold her.

To catch her from falling.

She is trembling so violently from the shock of the ambush that she doesn't trust her legs to keep her body upright for much longer. She stares blankly at the empty space where that…_thing_…was towering over her companion just moments before, its jaws ajar and poised to crush him between its venomous fangs. It all happened so quickly that she can hardly believe that anything happened at all. The ghastly creature bounded out of the darkness towards an unsuspecting Henry, gathering momentum as it prepared to pounce upon its prey. She spied it in a split second, and without even thinking, she let out a bloodcurdling screech of terror and blindly fired her gun—shooting over and over and over again, screaming bloody murder until the creature collapsed lifelessly to the filthy ground, rattling the tunnel walls with the force of its impact.

"Kate."

He calls out her name, but she doesn't hear him. She just stares at the vacant space before her, her gun still poised to shoot, her hands gripping the handle so fiercely that her knuckles begin to turn white.

"_Kate. _Kate, it's okay…it's dead. I'm okay."

Suddenly, in a rush, everything comes crashing down on her, and the gun clatters to the floor as she erupts into a fit of tremulous sobs.

Her body is quaking so hard that her knees finally give out on her and she topples forward, only to be caught by Henry's strong arms firmly pulling her body against his. She buries her head in his chest and wails pathetically, forgetting all about trying to be the tough girl and standing on her own. She can't even force out any intelligible speech because her crying is so brutal and the emotional earthquake rippling through her body is too powerful for her to control. Her only salvation, her only comfort is Henry embracing her tightly in his arms, leaning his cheek against her hair and whispering that it's okay, that it's all over, that everything's fine and that she doesn't need to be afraid anymore. Because heaven knows she's afraid, she's utterly terrified of what can happen to her—what can happen to _him—_with this job. She's terrified of losing everything dear to her again—and although she doesn't have much that she's attached to anymore, somehow she has allowed herself to become attached to him, to this man that she only once looked upon as a mere associate, and to lose him will rip her apart in more ways than she wants to imagine. He is the one constant in her life now, the one person who can keep her from falling back into her old habits again and retreating back into that godforsaken state of indifference she has lived in for far too long. She _needs_ him. Desperately.

So she presses herself closer to him in their embrace, praying that he won't ever let her go.

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**F: **_**Fear**_

The visions have returned again, and once more, he knows he is afraid.

It's always been like this. The blinding flashes of light, the searing pain ripping through every particle in his body, the unbearable agony of watching his memories ceaselessly replay themselves before his eyes—the horrifying fits will plague him when he least expects them and then vanish as if they have never occurred. And they will not return for weeks, months at a time—long enough for him to become so occupied with his current obsessions that he will completely forget about them, only to be caught by dreadful shock when they suddenly seize him again.

He never knows when they will come. He never knows when those fits—both his curse and his blessing—will leap out from the shadows and ravage him until he is almost entirely stripped of what little sanity he still possesses. True, they have been the source of his greatest inspiration, but at a grave price. With blinding enlightenment comes terrifying fear, horrors of a past he would rather forget than relive. With visions of grandeur come visions of inadequacy, of a childhood robbed of innocence, of death. Of death, darkness, dying…of a horse rearing up on its hind legs, tossing its young, ill-fated rider to the hard ground. Of the insufferable screams and howls of his grieving mother asking why _him_, why? Of racing blindly through a dark forest as a storm rages wildly around him, of hiding in the abandoned sanctuary of a chapel, of sobbing desperately and begging God to please, _please_ let him exchange places with his dead brother if only to make everyone happy again.

He remembers a quote he read once when he was absently browsing through Helen's library. "No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear," the author C.S. Lewis had once said, and upon reading the words etched deep into the old, faded paper, Nikola instantly knew they were true.

True, because his grief is fear incarnate, horror that refuses to leave his soul at peace, terror that will afflict him until the moment of death, a death which he ironically dreads more than life itself.

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**G: **_**Gift**_

"Here. I, uh…got this for you."

She furrows her brow in confusion. "You…got me a present? My birthday isn't until next month." She carefully takes the small, brightly wrapped package from his outstretched hand.

He shifts nervously on the balls of his feet, his gaze darting from one corner of the room to the other as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets. "Uh, yeah, I know. But I figured…a…I don't know." He laughs to himself, shaking his head as if he is suddenly realizing how stupid this all looks. "A…welcome back present. Or something. I guess."

"Oh."

"Since we missed you and everything…while you were—"

"You missed me?" Her face softens and a tiny smile breaks across her face. Instantly, he realizes that the question is referring only to him, and not to the collective whole of everyone at the Sanctuary.

He does nothing but gape at her for a few seconds before speaking. "I—of course I missed you, Ash. I mean, Ashley." Does she not think he cares about her? After all, it was he who risked his life trying to rescue her from the Cabal headquarters before they got the chance to drug her again.

Her expression is a mixture of delight, surprise, gratitude…and perhaps something else all at once. "Aww…" She glances down at the gift. "You're so sweet, Will. Thanks." Beaming, she reaches forward and grabs him in a tight hug.

He is so caught off-guard by the gesture that he feels as if all his breath has been stolen from his lungs. And there's an odd thrill burning in his stomach—and in his cheeks, for that matter. As he awkwardly lifts his arms to hug her back, the thrill intensifies, and he can't help but wonder if he's finally going insane.

She pulls away after lingering maybe just a bit too long. She smiles at him again—wait, is she _blushing_? No, he's imagining things. He must be. Ashley Magnus does not _blush_—

Or maybe she does. Her cheeks have turned ridiculously pink.

"I have to um, go…but I'll definitely open it later—thanks again," she beams at him once more, her blue eyes twinkling.

He decides that he likes it when she's happy. He likes it a lot. His stomach seems to agree with him.

"You're welcome." He grins feebly back at her, feeling like a dorky teenage boy again.

"Well…I'll see you later. At dinner." She grants him one last bright smile before waving and disappearing from sight.

"Right. Dinner…" he murmurs to himself, gazing dazedly out the doorway.

He can't remember the last time he's felt like this. It's amazing.

Oh, crap, he'd better not let Clara find out…

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**H: **_**Heaven**_

She shuts her eyes and replays the scene in her head. Her fingers, barely brushing against his skin as she undoes the buttons on his shirt. His face, just inches from her own. His warm breath dancing across her lips as his beautiful eyes flicker up and down, gazing softly at her. His nose, scarcely rubbing against her cheek as his mouth moves closer to hers, almost touching…

Just thinking about it leaves her breathless.

So maybe it was the nubbins' fault. But she doesn't care.

She's had a little taste of heaven, and that's enough…

…well, except for the fact that he hasn't_ actually_ kissed her yet…


	3. From Insignia to Love

_Dear Readers,_

_Thanks for the lovely reviews and encouragement. Here's the next batch of oneshots. Enjoy!_

_Best regards from a bookworm ( and now really POed Tesla fan b/c the American History museum in DC is stupid and loves Edison too much),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P_

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**I: **_**Insignia**_

He runs his fingers over the crudely carved emblem in the brick, fingers tracing the jagged outline of its familiar image. It is an image that has haunted him for what seems like an eternity, but now, after far too many sleepless nights and countless hours perusing every piece of available literature on his subject of research, he finally knows its meaning. Here, somewhere along this darkened, sooty alleyway, is a door that conceals the covert meetings of his now sworn archenemies. Here lies the secret to the one thing that can destroy him, what is left of his already broken family, and all his years of passionate work. Here he is, staring straight into the all-seeing eye etched into the grimy wall, an eye which has been keeping close watch on him ever since he began his medical career. An eye that refuses to tear its infernal gaze away from him, an eye that is fully intent on scouring every nook and cranny of his life in order to find any deficiency, any kind of weakness.

But tragically, he knows that it has already spied his weakness.

It is none other than the very thing he lives for, the very thing he works to protect, the very thing he cannot bear to lose for fear that he will lose everything else in the process.

His daughter.

And he knows that it is only a matter of time before they strike.

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**J: **_**Jealousy**_

He's not jealous.

No, of course not.

He has much more pressing things with which to occupy his time than something as trivial as—dare he say it—_love_.

But he can't help but feel something vile, something almost monstrous, stir irately within him every time he sees her with _him_. He tells himself that it is only his disdain for her companion that rouses this storm within him—and nothing more. But in his heart he knows that he is devastated when he spies them sharing affectionate glances in class or stealing quick kisses behind a tree. Devastated that she, whom he has so carelessly allowed himself to become so inextricably attached to, has chosen another over himself.

He loves her desperately. He looks at her and is utterly consumed by his overwhelming desire to offer his whole life to her, to sacrifice everything he has and is for her. And yet, he cannot have her.

Because she belongs to another, another whom he hates with every fiber of his being. Another whom he far too often wishes to destroy if only to be with his beloved forever.

But alas, as with most dreams, it is not to be.

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**K: **_**Kiss**_

She remembers the first time they kissed, how his mouth had been cocked in that smug, oddly adorable grin of his before she decided to give in to his request and grant him what he wanted if only to indulge him just that once. How she leaned in to kiss his cheek and he'd turned at the last second, catching her off guard and quite literally capturing her lips with his own. She remembers the small sparks of electricity that tingled from his body through to her own upon contact, the heat of his body warming hers, the firm pressure of his mouth pressing against hers with a passion she didn't think was possible to convey in such a brief moment of time. She remembers having to force herself to let go, to grab hold of his arms and push herself away from his unyielding grip before she let him go too far.

But the clearest memories are the ones that both scare her and intrigue her, the secrets of her heart and mind that she has kept locked away for far too long.

Perhaps it is because he was the one she has really wanted all this time that she still remembers the way he tastes. The salt on his lips, the slight touch of something oddly sweet, like the richness of pure honey, intermixed with it. Perhaps it is that hidden desire that has preserved the memory of that intoxicating musky aroma of unidentifiable origin wafting up from his skin and intermingling with the smell of sweat and electrical smoke. The memory of the softness of his lips despite their firm hold on her, the memory of his pulse racing in time with hers, the memory of everything she ought not to remember but yet recalls as if it has all just happened moments ago.

It is each memory that drives her to this point now, where she stands just inches from him yet again. But this time, the atmosphere is wholly different. This time, she isn't as unsure of herself. This time, she doesn't feel so rushed. This time, she allows herself to relish the feeling of his warm breath tickling her skin, to savor the glorious swooping and burning in her stomach, to take full pleasure in feeling the ramming of her heart against her ribcage that begins upon her stepping even closer to him.

She doesn't stop to think. Nor can she. Her mind is entangled in the sweet rapture of sensation, in the thrill of unsuppressed emotion winding through her and capturing her in its untamable grasp. She lets herself become intertwined in this chaotically beautiful net, falling freely into it without offering any resistance.

Her hands gently land on his chest. She can feel his heart beating rapidly beneath his warm skin. A small tingle of electricity dances up through her fingers and she exhales blissfully, closing her eyes as she basks in the moment, before leaning forward and lifting her lips to the base of his ear. She senses the shudder run down his body at the contact and can't help but smile at the fact that she has won him over.

"Helen…" The way her name spills out so delicately, so smoothly, from his own lips sends a wave of numbness through her knees, threatening to cause her to collapse against him.

She lingers there, mouth poised against his ear, listening intently to his nervous breathing and feeling his heart beat steadily against her hand. Then, she finally allows her own words to slip out off her tongue in barely a whisper, causing another thrilling shudder to course through his body.

"Kiss me…"

There is no need for her to say anything more as she pulls her face back to gaze at his one final time before he eagerly closes the space between them, drawing her lips tightly against his and stealing all her breath from her lungs, keeping a resolute hold on her lest she try and push him away again.

But this time, she knows she won't do anything of the sort.

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**L: **_**Love**_

He can't say he knew what love was until she found him.

He can't say that he had really ever felt it, ever understood it, ever seen it anywhere around him.

But he knows that the minute Helen Magnus took him in, it was out of love.

Love for a poor little boy such as himself, who had been lost and alone, terrified and abandoned, with no home, no family—nothing which he could lay claim to. Love that looked past the monster he appeared to be and saw the broken human spirit inside, a spirit that begged to be tended to with the utmost care.

It is this unconditional love that has sustained him since childhood and has enabled him to survive the cruel lashes from the vicious and unforgiving world around him.

It is this love that reassures him that no matter what happens, he _does _have a home and a family, a family that will always stand behind him despite the difficulties it may face in the future.

It is this love that has made him who he is and that is still shaping him even now. He still can't say that he understands it, but at least he knows now that it exists, and that he himself has experienced it in the greatest way possible.


	4. From Marriage to Purpose

_Dear Readers, _

_I apologize for taking so incredibly long to update this! But after a random bout of inspiration, it's back. In case you haven't noticed already, some of these oneshots are AU and/or futureset. Thanks again for reviewing; I hope you like these next few._

_Best regards from a Bookworm (and Tesla fangirl),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;p

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**M: **_**Marriage**_

"_MAWAGE_," the Impressive Clergyman drawls from the television set. "_Mawage is what has brought us togedder today…"_

"Dear lord," mutters the man sitting beside Helen on the couch. "I sincerely hope _this_ doesn't happen."

She turns and furrows her brows inquisitively at him. "What do you mean?"

Instead of providing a typical cheeky answer, he merely lifts an eyebrow at the question and distinctly directs his gaze towards her robe pocket before returning his attention to the television.

She frowns and looks down at the indicated pocket in confusion. When she slips her fingers inside, she finds, to her surprise, that there is a rather oddly shaped object stuffed inside it. Intrigued, she draws out a crumpled ball of old, faded paper. She gives her companion a sideways glance, but he pretends not to notice and continues staring intently at the television screen. Shaking her head, she pulls the wrinkled mass of paper apart—

—and gasps quite loudly.

She stares at the silver ring for one long, stunned moment before lifting her eyes to meet his.

And suddenly, in that moment, something clicks. Maybe it is the vulnerability and the fear of uncertainty and rejection shining in his blue eyes, or maybe it is the way his unruly hair is sticking up at odd angles, or maybe it is the way she can feel his hands trembling next to her knee … or maybe it is something far deeper than any of those things. Whatever it is, it compels her move forward and crash her lips into his, gracing him with a long, drawn-out kiss.

"Yes," she breathes against his mouth after pulling away.

And then she notices that in the heat of the moment, the ring has shot up from the paper to stick to the bottom of his chin.

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**N: **_**No**_

"No."

He groans in frustration and turns his head to frown at his wife. "_Darling_, how am I supposed to know what he wants if all he does is say 'no' every time I ask something?!"

"It's a phase. You know kids. The minute they learn the word, all they want to do is say it constantly to annoy people," she answers nonchalantly without even looking up from her present task.

"I fail to see how that's going to help me."

"Figure it out. Use your doggie instincts." He rolls his eyes at the term he's gotten so used to hearing from her. She doesn't notice. "I'm going to the kitchen to fill up another bottle." Without so much as a glance in his direction, she stands up and exits the room.

Sighing, he redirects his attention to the wide-eyed little boy in front of him. "Your mom…" He shakes his head. "Okay, buddy, can you _please_ just make this easy for Daddy? Which toy do you want to take with you?" Silence. He sighs again and holds up one of the choices unenthusiastically. "The truck?"

"No."

He puts it down and picks up the other choice. "Teddy?"

"No."

"Rattle, Mr. Squeaky, whaddya want?" he moans.

"No."

"Augh, I give up! _KA-ATE_!"

* * *

**O: **_**Orphan**_

The Suarezes had been nice. Maybe a bit old to have a ten-year-old under their wing, but they were good. They'd been kind to him—the kindest any family who'd cared for him in the past two years had been.

But like all the others, they couldn't take care of him forever.

So here he was, back at St. Hedwig's Home for Children for the umpteenth time, awaiting the day when a family would come that could finally take him home for good.

"Will?"

He looked up to see Sister Louise gazing down at him in concern. "Yes?" He hated his voice. It sounded so small. So … _weak_.

"How are you doing?"

The old nun he had come to know and love like a grandmother slowly took a seat next to him on the bench. In the background, the other children romped joyously, enjoying their lively game of tag on the playground, but to him, their existence was in a world far away from his own.

"I'm okay, I guess."

Sister Louise placed a hand gently on his shoulder, a gesture he had become quite familiar with. A small wave of comfort rippled through him at it, and he suddenly felt that connection with the kind Sister tugging at him once again, as it always did when she was around. She was the only real constant in his life. His stronghold. His protector. She was the only person who had really ever made him feel truly _safe_ since the … accident.

"You don't have to lie to me, Will."

That was another thing he loved about Sister Louise. She never sugarcoated anything. It was always the blunt, honest truth with her, even if sometimes that truth wasn't something people particularly wanted to face. If people lied, she could read them like a book and somehow always draw the truth out of them in the end.

"Well … I guess I'm …"

"Feeling let down again, huh?"

He sighed. "Yeah." Pause. Then he turned to look intently into her tender grey eyes, a question forming on his tongue. It was a question that had been nagging at him, torturing him for two years, but he had never had the courage to say it out loud until now. "Sister Louise, do you think I'll ever be … be a … a normal kid again?"

The kind nun's eyes darkened in sympathy for him, and the hand on his shoulder tightened in a reassuring squeeze. "William, you _are _a normal kid. It doesn't matter where you end up living or who you live with or how long it takes to get there. Things will work out for the best. Trust me." Then she looked down at the rosary draped across her hand and let out a little chuckle. "I've got God on my side," she said with a smile, lifting the crystal beads up so that they caught the light and sparkled with a million tiny rainbows. Will had always loved that rosary. "You're number one on that notoriously long prayer list."

Will let out a small chuckle of his own at that, feeling suddenly at ease again. "I guess I'm covered then."

Sister Louise extended her arm around both his shoulders and pulled him towards her in a tight hug. "Oh, you're covered, all right," she said, still smiling. "Covered for life."

* * *

**P: **_**Purpose**_

"_There is a purpose to each of your Gifts. Use them wisely, and you will be able to unlock the secrets of this universe that science has failed to discover since the dawn of time. Misuse them, however, and you will bring down a curse upon you that will cause you and those you love more pain than you can possibly imagine."_

Gregory Magnus' words echoed deafeningly in his mind as he stared blankly into the dark pool of blood soaking his feet. It hadn't been his choice, he told himself. It was the … _thing_ inside him that drove him now, forcing him to act against his will. He had repeated the same lie over and over in every dead silence that had followed the bloodcurdling screams of terror and agony, those shrieks that had ripped through the night like his knife had ripped through their owners' flesh.

But no matter how hard he had tried to convince himself that the blame lay elsewhere, in the end he was forced to confront the horrifying truth.

It _was _his fault. He had _let _it control him.

He had misused his Gift. And soon, very soon, he knew the curse would pounce from the shadows to devour his soul forever. 


End file.
